Water Torture
by APennyForYourThought
Summary: ."It's raining, Christine." When madness takes hold, who is it to say if it is raining, or an angel crying... Or if it is some horrendous torture that a man has brought upon himself? With each droplet, the angels' voices get louder... Leroux oneshot. R&R!


**A/N: This is basically about Erik going insane... More insane, to be more exact. I like coming up with ways of how he can die, and in the position the Leroux book put him in. This is in companionship with Never Look Back on my other profile (DarkFlameOfTheMonkey) and The Rose Garden. Takes place somewhere in the final weeks after Christine left, and Erik is having a repeat of the part where she cried with him. A little Google research on the Chinese water torture and it'll all make sense.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned 'The Phantom of the Opera', I'd probably have more chance of being stinking rich. As you can guess, I'm not.**

Water Torture

_'Plunk.'_

There it came again, that drop upon his forehead. Another one followed. A series of drips had splattered across the top of his head for...how long now? It was a strange thing, Erik noted, that the drops of liquid did not come at consistent times.

_'Plunk.'_

"It's raining, Christine."

She was still beautiful beyond comprehension_._ Oh, there she was now. _Poor girl, Erik can take care of himself!_ Christine Daae was leaning over him, her messy hair making a golden halo around her features. _Oh dear girl, are you crying? There is no call for weeping, very soon we shall be married, and married joyfully!_

_'Plunk.'_

Erik brought a hand to his face. His cheeks were cold and wet with the drops. Tears.

"Christine, stop crying." Erik urged.

The Opera Ghost has indeed taken a huge fall from grace, or from wherever poor Erik was before. What a tableau poor, unhappy Erik made. For there was no Christine sitting with him in the darkness; Christine Daae had left long ago! Erik had wandered up the path to the land of men and women, calling for his Christine. He only intended for a short visit before she became Madame de Chagny. They did, after all, have such a long history together... That was not such a bad thing, was it? Only a visit. Now he rested next to the little stone well where Christine had fainted. Oh, what a wonderful moment that had been when Christine was lying in his arms!

And now Erik is alone.

_'Plunk.'_

What wicked siren would lure and tempt him from his dark hole under the ground? What wicked siren would sing a path to the world of man, of love and of heartbreak? What wicked siren would walk him off the cliffs?

Oh, what wicked siren would drive him insane?

No, not his dear Christine. His Christine was beautiful. His Christine was an angel. She would come back soon, to give back the little gold ring. Erik hoped he could say a farewell to her himself before that time came.

_'Plunk.'_

"Do stop crying Christine, you're breaking your Angel's heart!" Erik began to cry as well. What a sight it is to see a corpse cry!

To whom would Erik pledge all that he owned? What wicked siren would consume his love and gifts and he _himself_, bit by bit? And to whom would he give the love?

To none but her...

_'Plunk.'_

The Siren called. Erik was surrounded by the sound. Behind and below, ahead and above... Above where his Christine was. Would she hear his voice if he called? Long ago felt the nights when her sleep was laced with an angel's lullaby. Erik had taught and had kept watch at her bed dutifully. And now Christine Daae sang with his force behind her, Prima Donna! And now, even her teacher cannot hear her; the world repelled him so...

Erik was ensnared in his own trap.

_'Plunk, plunk, plunk...' _came the drops. Coming and going, but never ceasing.

Erik thought her such a good girl. The Living Corpse could die that very moment and he would have died _happy._ How could a mortal girl ever stand to cry with a monster? Christine Daae was an angel and his mother didn't want to own him as her child... What a strange and confusing world this was.

_'Plunk.'_

"Christine, now I am crying too!" Erik cried out into the surrounding shadows, wiping away the tears upon his face. "See how you manipulate me, you angel? What will our marriage be like if I am bent to your every desire? If you ask for gowns and jewels I shall have to increase my salary from the opera." A man can talk of the oddest things when he is out of his wits. "Moncharmin and Firmin would not take kindly to a raise, I think."

He expected a laugh from Christine at this moment, but Erik received none.

_The Angel would never stop crying._

'Plunk.'

_And the torture would never stop._

**I intended to imitate Gaston Leroux's way of writing from what I can remember of the book, so that's why the fic is kind of fragmented. It is confusing and moves from topic to topic. It is meant to be that way. The man's a lunatic, we know that, don't we? Put as many metaphors and mixed identities in here as I could. There is also a mystery... Where are those drops _coming_ from? Hehe. A wee something for the readers to think about.**

**I now bid you adieu. Leave a review if you care to with some constructive criticism!**

**DarkFlameOfTheMonkey**


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